


He's Got Guns

by rage_quitter



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rage_quitter/pseuds/rage_quitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin was supposed to pick up weapons for a heist. A date from the attractive arms dealer was a good pick up, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Got Guns

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for anonymous on tumblr: "Jerevin FAHC where Gavin is sent to pick up weapons for a heist from the adorable dealer Jeremy. Jeremy is convinced Gavin only flirts to try and get a discount on the goods."

Gavin hummed to himself as he sauntered from the truck he had driven here to the docks. There was a shipment today, and Geoff Ramsey’s name was on a good number of those boxes. Gavin’s job was to collect them. Michael had volunteered to go with him, but Gavin was confident he could do this by himself.

The ship delivering the goods was unassuming and fairly small. Most of them contained foreign goods, but several were smuggled weapons and drugs.

Gavin had only a vague description of the man overseeing the operation, an arms dealer who had apparently worked with them before. Jimmy or something. Apparently he was a short man with an affinity for hats.

Gavin checked the name he’d had to write down on a scrap of paper stuffed in his pocket. Jeremy, he was close. Jeremy Dooley. Interesting name, probably faked. Gavin didn’t care, really.

Finding the overseer was easy enough. He was standing atop a crate, shouting orders to the men working, his hat shielding his eyes from the sun. Not that that was an issue in the first place with the sunglasses on his face.

And—oh. Well. Gavin was floored for a couple seconds. Short, yes. Hot, _hell_ yes. The arms dealer had jeans and a muscle shirt on that showed off arms that could probably snap Gavin like a twig and pecs to rival Chris Evans’. He had a clipboard under one arm.

If he’d known that one of their arms dealers looked like this, well, he would have come out to greet him a long time ago.

Putting on his best swagger and a lazy smirk, Gavin approached. “Hey, ‘scuse me, are you Jeremy Dooley?” he called.

He looked down. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m Gav, here on business from Ramsey.”

“Oh, right.” Jeremy looked doubtful. “You’re Gavin Free?”

“The one and only,” Gavin said proudly.

“You’re… not quite what I expected, but okay.”

“Yeah?” Gavin tipped his chin. “You’re not as tall as I’d thought you’d be.”

Jeremy scowled, though it seemed lacking in any substance at Gavin’s teasing tone. “So you’re here for…?”

“Most of the arms and drugs. I’m pretty sure Ramsey ordered most of ‘em, anyway.”

Jeremy arched an eyebrow. “There’s ten crates of weapons, and four of drugs. Five of the weapons were bought by Ramsey, one of the drugs by Ramsey.”

Gavin leaned against the crate Jeremy stood on. “Who has the other weapons, huh?”

“Confidential.”

Gavin slipped his wallet from his pocket. “You sure? I could tell you who should own ‘em.”

Jeremy eyed the wads of green on the wallet. “Sorry, man.”

“Aw, but Ramsey would definitely be quite pleased with another crate of weapons!”

Jeremy shook his head. “I’d have to see numbers.”

Gavin grinned. “Ten digits all right for you?”

Jeremy’s eyes widened.

“Got a piece of paper and a pen?” Gavin asked.

Jeremy flipped one of the papers on his clipboard and passed it to him, along with a pen. Gavin scribbled down a set of numbers and passed it back.

The arms dealer tipped down his sunglasses to squint at the numbers. He frowned, and then a look of surprise made Gavin’s grin widen. “Is this… is this a phone number?”

“Well,” Gavin said. “You wanted a number, right? How ‘bout a date, too, eh?”

Jeremy stared at him for a second. “Are you fucking kidding me? Asking me out isn’t gonna lower the prices, pal.”

Gavin pushed up his flashy golden sunglasses and tilted his chin. “Then it’s a good thing I wasn’t askin’ for that reason.”

“I—wait, huh?”

Gavin scoffed. “Come on, mate, no one’s flirted with you before? Is this new to you? Really don’t see how it could be, honestly.” He gave a joking wiggle of his eyebrows, his grin a little more predatory as he admired Jeremy’s biceps from behind his dark lenses.

“Uh… I mean…”

“What, is it a crime to find someone like you attractive?”

“Well, when you’re actually a couple of criminals…”

Gavin laughed in surprise at the dry quip. “All right, fair enough. Still. You’re pretty damn good lookin’ and I’m mad at Ramsey for not sending me out here sooner.”

“Oh, just into me for my looks, huh?” Jeremy was grinning back at Gavin now.

“Haven’t had much time to get to know you, have I?”

“Good point.” Jeremy looked back at the workers. “Tell you what, Gav, I’ll sell you guys another crate. Full price, but Funhaus can suck a dick and miss a couple AKs. And then,” Jeremy went on, “you’re gonna make good on your advances here.”

“Advances,” Gavin snorted. “I got a lock box of cash in the truck, should cover the cost.” It was money Geoff had given him in just this case.

Jeremy ordered the men to start moving two of the weapons crates back to where Gavin had parked the truck, and Jeremy followed the Englishman over as well. Gavin opened and passed over the lock box so Jeremy could count the money. Satisfied, Jeremy tucked the box under his arm and directed the men moving the boxes.

Once all the weapons and drugs were stored safely in the truck, Jeremy turned to Gavin. “I’m in town a few more weeks,” he said. “Anywhere good to go?”

“Loads of places,” Gavin replied. “Especially with me. Crew gets in anywhere we want. I can show you the coolest places in Los Santos.”

“Really?” Jeremy raised an eyebrow.

“You ever sat on top of the Vinewood sign sniping pigeons outta the air?”

“Nope, but I bet a hundred bucks I’m a better sniper than you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re on, then!”

“I’ll text you and tell you where to pick me up.”

“Better bring a helmet.”

“A bike?”

“Damn right.”

 


End file.
